


Some things just go together

by bioplast_hero



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Found Family, Halloween Costumes, Multi, Post-War (No S8), halloween party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioplast_hero/pseuds/bioplast_hero
Summary: Post-war paladins prepare for Lance's Halloween party. (No S8.)Shiro wants a couples costume, and Keith isn't getting the hint; Allura has a costume surprise for Lance; Lotor gets some questionable advice about costume selection and Matt is in for a surprise; Pidge, Hunk and Romelle  figure out what to do with their triangle of romantic crushes; and more.
Relationships: Acxa/Veronica (Voltron), Allura/Lance (Voltron), Antok/Kolivan (Voltron), Ezor/Zethrid (Voltron), Hunk/Pidge/Romelle, Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Matt Holt/Lotor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Some things just go together

**Author's Note:**

> Originally shared as related threads on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero/status/1320983692169203712), this is mostly established relationship and domestic fluff.
> 
> You can page search by ship tags to read only the sections you want, but the final scene has everyone: **#sheith #allurance #punkelle #mattor #veracxa #zezor #kolivantok**
> 
> 🎃🖤❤️🧡💜💙💖💚💛💟💘😈

**#sheith**

When Keith gets home from a full day of briefings, he blusters through the door with a sigh so big that their little shack can’t contain all of it. Shiro feels it in his bones, even as the sight of the man he loves lights up his smile.

“Long day, baby?”

“Ugh, you can say that again,” Keith huffs, rolling tension from his shoulders. But Shiro doesn’t miss the wisp of a smile forming on Keith’s lips as he drops his ceremonial sash on the coffee table and pads in socked feet over to Shiro in the kitchen. There he barnacles onto Shiro like he’s his whale. Or boat? Shiro’s not picky, so long as Keith is the barnacle. Which reminds him…

“Hey, so,” Shiro starts, turning off the burner and slipping his arm around Keith’s waist to pull him in tighter. He pauses to kiss Keith’s temple just because he can. “Lance’s Halloween party this weekend. I was thinking about costumes.”

Keith grunts by way of answer, but burrows closer until he’s tucked up under Shiro’s chin, mouthing over his pulse and just… breathing him in. Moments like this, Shiro is incandescent with pride, that he’s Keith’s. Only Keith’s.

It still feels new, and it really isn’t. It’s been the better part of a year— since the war, since Shiro got up the nerve to ask, to confess— and many months since they fixed up the old shack enough to move in while they continued making it a home. _Their home._ Wow, Shiro loves the shape of those words in his thoughts.

Even after years more, Shiro may never grow accustomed to being allowed to kiss Keith and hold him close whenever he wants to, without any pretense.

He has everything he ever wanted, far more than he ever dreamed, and somehow he still wants even more. Like this stupid party, the kind of thing Shiro never cared about before. Now he wants to go to a party with Keith on his arm. To show off that Keith is _his,_ even just to their friends. And they know— oh boy, do they know. Shiro gets dragged all the time for the years he spent being egregiously smitten, for taking so long to act on his feelings, for all the insufferable pining the Atlas crew endured. They _know._

Shiro still wants to shout it from the rooftops. And so sue him that he wants to share a possibly stupid, very cloying, probably outdated tradition with his _boyfriend._

He wants a couple’s costume.

Keith takes a little break from nuzzling Shiro’s neck, opting to plate the noodles Shiro just finished cooking. Shiro lets him take over, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching Keith work.

“So, costumes,” Shiro nudges. “What do you think?”

Keith shrugs.

“Oh come on,” Shiro rolls his eyes. “You must have thought about it!”

Keith looks right at him. “Uh, not really.”

That gives Shiro pause. “You are, um, coming to the party still, right?”

Keith blinks at the hard turn. “Of course I’m going, I told you I would.” Keith tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure Shiro out. “Besides, haven’t seen everybody in a while. Fuck, I might even miss them.”

Shiro brightens when Keith’s cheeks tint a little pink. “Stranger things have happened, you know.”

“Not to me.” Keith’s snort is objectively unflattering and, to Shiro, one of his most charming mannerisms.

Keith carries their plates to the coffee table, because it’s that or the kitchen counter, or eating in bed. They don’t have much space, but they don’t need much. Out this far, it’s like the whole desert is just for them, and every single star.

The wolf poofs into existence in a burst of motes and flying dog fur, while Keith tries and sort of fails to shield their plates. It's a daily occurrence and makes them both cringe-laugh. The huge creature flops onto the rug they leave open for him, kicking more of lord-knows-what into the air.

Maybe a _little_ more space wouldn’t hurt.

As Keith digs into his plate, Shiro un-subtly returns to his Halloween scheming. They only have a couple of days to work it out.

“What kinds of costumes do you like?” Shiro tries to sound nonchalant. “Heroes, or monsters? Bad puns?”

Keith slurps up a long noodle. “Anything, I guess. Wait, anything but the puns.”

Shiro inhales sharply in mock-indignation. Keith just grins and forks up another bite.

“Fine, no puns. Um, well, you could be… a witch?”

Keith nods like he’s actually considering it. “Classic.”

“But what would your familiar be?” Shiro settles his chin in his hand, all feigned innocence. Whatever Keith picks, Shiro’s sure he can work with it.

Keith points at the wolf. “Him, I guess.”

Shiro purses his lips. That’s hard to argue with, and also a total dead end. _He_ was supposed to be his witch’s familiar.

He doesn’t want to be a cauldron all night, what a headache.

Being the broom between Keith’s thighs, though— that idea has potential.

“What do you want to be?” Keith asks. He’s so earnest about it. His attention feels like sunshine on Shiro’s face.

Shiro’s heart thumps a little faster, which is only partially the anxiety of struggling to think quickly enough about what he can pair with Keith’s witch. _Think, Takashi._

“Wait, wait, I know what you can be,” Keith smiles. “Jiro, your Paladin. Right?”

Shiro smiles. “I hadn’t thought of that. I like that. But what would your Monsters & Manna character be?”

“Don’t have one,” Keith shrugs. “And I thought I was the witch?”

Shiro swallows his rebuttal, reminds himself not to make a big deal of it. Maybe he just needs to course-correct before the witch thing gets too ingrained.

“Okay, okay,” Shiro waves his hands, resetting. “How about you go as a werewolf?” Shiro thinks being Keith’s moon would be pretty freaking cute. Keith told him his hair looked like moonlight once. He’s moony now just thinking about it.

Keith squints at him. “Why would I be a wolf when I have a wolf?”

“Oh, right, um—”

“A zombie would be pretty easy to pull off, I guess,” Keith suggests. “Minimal effort, maximum mayhem.”

“And what am I, the grave you crawled out of?”

Keith frowns. “Definitely too soon.”

Shiro winces. “Yeah, fair. Let’s see… Doctor Frankenstein? Wait, no,” Shiro takes one mental step in the direction of being the mad scientist’s monster and backpedals so hard he kinda spins out. “Pretend I just… didn’t say that.”

Keith’s eyes are a bit wide. “Definitely.”

“Okay, new idea. What about Han Solo?” Shiro asks. “You loved Star Wars.”

Keith smiles kind of wistfully at that. “Yeah. Oh! And the wolf can be Chewbacca!”

Shiro tries not to take offense that Keith is so much quicker to catch on to the wolf matching his costume than his best friend, partner and _lover,_ but he really has to shrug it off. Being jealous of Kosmo of all things is not a good look.

“Or I could go as Chewy,” Shiro suggests. A moment too late, he thinks of Princess Leia as a saucy alternative… Keith would probably be into that. Wait, who’s coming to this party again?

Before he can will himself to broach the subject of metal bikinis, Keith’s nose wrinkles once again in confusion. It’s just as cute as it always is, even if Shiro is getting a bit desperate.

“Do you have, like, a fur suit lying around that I don’t know about?” Keith asks lightly, like it’s no big deal if he does or doesn’t have a secret fursona. “I’m just sensing a pattern.”

“No, nope. No more animals, uh…” Shiro stirs his noodles, growing even more focused. “You can be Batman and I can be Robin.”

Keith snorts. “Robin is the worst. No way you’d be Robin. Besides, you’d be, I dunno, Superman or something.”

It’s Shiro’s turn to narrow his eyes. “I think we’ve taken this ‘golden boy’ business too far.”

Keith relents with a nod, smirking to himself as he revisits some fond memory. Keith knows better than anyone the kinds of stunts Shiro liked to pull while he was the official Garrison poster boy; he just knew how to not get caught.

“Alright,” Keith agrees, “you could be Batman, if you wanted to. Hmm. I guess I could be Loki?”

 _“Keith,”_ Shiro groans. “That’s not even the same universe.”

Keith eyes him sideways. “Was it supposed to be?” His words are a bit sharper than necessary. “Fine,” he huffs. “You be Thor to my Loki.”

It’s Shiro’s turn to wrinkle his nose. “They were _brothers,_ Keith.”

“Uh, so?” Keith scoffs. “What even _are_ the criteria here?”

“I don’t know, just— you and me! Wait, I know. Black and red.” He’s elated; this one’s perfect.

“Colors?”

“LIONS, Keith.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I could ask if everyone wants to do that,” Keith hesitantly agrees. _No, not everyone,_ Shiro thinks with a stream of mental expletives he just barely keeps to himself. “But, like, robot lion costumes would be really complicated, and we have five days?”

_Good lord._

“Black and red M&Ms?” Shiro squeaks.

“Shiro,” Keith answers, gently squeezing Shiro’s knee, “I don’t think there ever was a black M&M.”

Shiro hangs his head. “Just name one costume that you would actually be willing to do. Please, humor me.”

“I’d do any of them,” Keith blinks. “Shiro, you’re the one who hasn’t liked any of the ideas.”

Shiro is staring at Keith’s dark hair and how it spills into his eyes as he fumbles for another idea. “I know! Salt and pepper shakers,” Shiro declares triumphantly.

“What?” Keith says around a mouthful. “I said no puns.”

Shiro stares. “Keith. You do know what a pun is, right?”

“Yes, whatever,” Keith flushes and Shiro feels bad immediately. Keith puts his plate down like he’s losing his appetite.

“I’m sorry, Keith, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Keith turns to him and his eyes soften, taking in the contrite look on Shiro’s face. He leans into Shiro, tipping his head down onto his shoulder. “I know that, baby. It’s just… what’s gotten into you tonight? You’re being kind of, I dunno— intense. And you haven’t eaten your dinner.”

Shiro sighs and twists up a big forkful of noodles, now cold, ready to fill his mouth before he can embarrass himself again. “It’s really nothing.”

**#mattor**

“And what are you going as?” Lance asks Lotor, eyebrow raised in. challenge. “You do know you need a costume, right? Matty did tell you that part, right?”

The prince isn’t surprised by the question; he has already asked Matt all about the upcoming Terran holiday, and the unfamiliar tradition of the Halloween Party in particular. He’s also gathered that part of the entertainment is to surprise your companions with your novel attire.

“I have a costume planned,” Lotor answers smugly. “And you will have to wait until Saturday to see it.”

“Alright, Mr. Cranky Pants. I just wanted to offer my help. Is it sexy, at least?”

Lotor frowns. “No, it is very fearsome and formidable.”

“Ah well. Too bad, dude, everyone loves a sexy-smexy Halloween costume.”

Lotor purses his hips.“I thought the theme was terrors of the night? I was prepared to horrify all of you.”

“More than one kind of thing can go bump in the night,” Lance smirks. When he gives his signature eyebrow waggle, Lotor is tempted to wipe it clean off of the lad’s face. “It’s a sexy kind of spooky, which I guess your boy-toy failed to mention? Missed opportunity on his part, I’m honestly disappointed. But I get it, he’s probably going easy on you. It IS your first time.”

_The intolerable little shit._

That said, Lotor might benefit from some of the human’s insight into local customs. Matt tends to see things in a certain way, which is a very nice way of saying his boyfriend’s preferences skew into the strange and nerdy. Lance, tiresome as can be, does sometimes have a point. Maybe this is one of those times.

He's not just taking the bait. He's _not._

Lotor represses a vexed sigh. “What might you recommend?”

**#allurance**

“Maybe we should keep it down,” Allura giggles. “It’s early.”

Lance pulls her into a turn, swaying a little with her in his arms before spinning her back onto her feet. The music blares on, and Allura is aware of every creaking step that must echo in the basement den. Homes on Earth don’t seem built to stand the test of time, but maybe she thinks about that kind of thing more than she should.

“I’m just dancing with my best girl—”

“—Your only girl.”

“The only girl I need.” Lance punctuates the thought with a little dip, and oh, she maybe swoons a little bit. Feels like he’s been practicing.

“Yes, but,” she pokes his chest once she’s back on her feet, “isn’t Hunk staying all week? I don’t want to wake him up.”

She steps back, reaching for her mug of coffee. At first she was skeptical about the bitter Earth drink, but milk and sugar improve everything, and she enjoys the extra pep in her step. She’s not quite the morning person Lance is. Neither is Hunk.

“Oh,” Lance scoffs, “he’s already out the door! Something about Pidge and one of their blah blah projects,” Lance waves a hand in a vague sort of way, “that apparently requires meeting in secret at the crack of dawn.”

“Secret,” she snorts. “If Hunk wanted to keep a secret from you, he could, dear.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying,” Allura laughs, taking Lance’s face in her hands and kissing him softly. Lance will forget almost any offense with a little kiss, not that she needs an excuse.

“Well, _I’m_ just saying that there’s a distinct possibility we have the whole house to ourselves until at least lunch. So,” his voice drops an octave, “sex on the kitchen counters?”

“I’ll bend you over the counters,” she snipes back.

“Is there an echo in here?”

She shoves Lance’s mug into his hands. “Just drink your coffee.”

“Hey hey, so, I have some errands to run for the party today. I need pumpkins, and candy for trick-or-treaters, and a little something-extra for my costume. Who knows, maybe you’ll find something for yours—”

“I told you, I have my outfit already.”

“Yeah, but maybe you’ll find… relevant accessories?”

“You are fishing for clues, and I’m not buying it,” she laughs.

“I am not! I just wanna spend the day with you on my arm,” he says in a moony tone. “Besides, I know where we can get another one of those pumpkin-spice-a-ma-things. You know, if you wanted to come with?”

His eyes are a bit wide and so hopeful. They’ll be married in two phoebs, and still Lance looks every bit like it would mean the world to him if Allura would accompany him to the mall.

He didn’t have to bribe her with drinks for her to accept, but she’ll take it.

“I’ll come. But you can ply me with all the pumpkin things in the universe. I’m still not giving you one peek of my costume before the big day.”

“You know that’s wedding dresses, right?” He squawks when she pinches his arm, rubbing the sting out. “What?! It’s not like it’s bad luck!”

She kisses his cheek. “I know. But I intend for you to be surprised.”

**#sheith**

Shiro let the whole costume conversation drop for the night, but he couldn’t let it go for long. They wouldn’t have much time to try and find outfits for whatever they decide. It comes up pretty naturally, anyway, when Keith has him pressed into the bed the next night. Keith unbuttons Shiro’s uniform and takes the opportunity to suck a mark at his throat.

“Mm, my sexy vampire boyfriend,” Shiro teases.

Keith falters a little, raising his head to meet Shiro’s eyes. “Is that a bedroom idea or a Lance’s party idea?”

“Both?” Shiro cringes. “Not subtle, huh?”

“No, baby.” Keith kisses him then works his way back to Shiro’s neck. Shiro breathes a little moan as he feels the scrape of his teeth. He loves when Keith gets like this, all bitey and possessive.

Maybe the way into this thing was through the sexy angle all along.

Shiro hums as Keith conquers every inch of his neck. “You can be Dracula, and I can be your human plaything.”

Shiro feels more than sees how Keith wrinkles his nose as he laughs. “Careful,” he warns, pulling back to look at Shiro. “That will not stay PG for very long.”

“And is that a problem?” Shiro challenges. He’s not ashamed of thirsting after his boyfriend.

“If you don’t want me to fuck you on the drinks table,” Keith deadpans, “in front of Coran, and Veronica, and _my mother,_ then yes, it’s going to be a problem.”

Shiro’s laughter earns him the fondest eye-crinkling smile from the light of his life. It’s amazing to see, Keith smiling so easily now. He deserves it. He deserves everything.

Shiro wags his eyebrows. “Teacher and student?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You know damn well I wanted to fuck you when you were _actually_ my teacher. Maybe let’s keep that one between you and me.”

Shiro juts out his lip, half-pouting. “Okay. You be the sexy doctor, and I’m the patient you’ve gotta operate on.”

Keith growls. “The sexy patient is going to sign a waiver, because _everyone_ is gonna see the grisly details.” Keith returns to sucking marks on Shiro’s neck.

“Fine. From now on, only costumes you wouldn’t fuck me in.”

Keith makes a buzzer sound. “Try again, sweetheart. There’s no such thing.” Keith nips at his jaw hungrily to make his point.

“Lobster mascot?”

Keith rasps a little growl and licks up Shiro’s jawline.

Shiro groans. “Cardboard box?”

Keith arches an eyebrow. “Hypothetically, is your top half or bottom half in the box? See, now you are just giving me ideas.”

Shiro pouts. “Keith! I have to wear _something._ Okay? Pretty sure going naked breaks your cardinal rule.”

“Yes, it does. You’re learning,” Keith starts kissing down Shiro’s half-clothed chest, rucking up his undershirt to bare his stomach. “And I’m only vetoing fantasies that already live rent-free in my brain, for my own sanity.”

Shiro’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as those words lurch to Shiro’s dick. “Okay, um, now you _have_ to tell me about this vampire fetish, Keith.”

“No, all I _have_ to do is get you out of these clothes,” Keith groans and it’s almost a whine, needy and squirming in Shiro’s lap. Yet Keith almost looks shy as he moves to place the most delicate kiss on Shiro’s lips. “No more costume talk. I want to take care of you right now.”

Shiro feels heat rise to the tips of his ears.

“By the time I’m done with you,” Keith says in a low voice, “you won’t remember what clothes are.”

“God, I love you,” Shiro mutters as he yanks Keith down to meet him.

**#punkelle**

“Hunk!” Romelle calls from the door, letting herself in. That’s what best friends are for, right? It may be Lance’s house, but he’s given Hunk the keys to the kingdom, and Romelle feels at home wherever Hunk is. “I managed to get everything you asked for!”

Hunk comes around the corner, beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Romelle feels her chest tighten at his smile.

“You’re an angel,” Hunk sing-songs, scooping the grocery bags out of her arms. He wastes no time spreading it all out on the kitchen counter, checking it’s all there and accounted for, that it's all going to work out. He’s got that nervous energy about him today. Joyful, but nervous.

“What is all this for, anyhow?”

“Oh, you know. I couldn’t decide what kind of dessert to make for Lance’s party, whether it should be spooky-themed, or fall-flavored, or gluten-free— so I just decided to make all of them.”

“Won’t that be… a lot?”

Hunk fidgets. “Well, sure, but- the whole gang will be there. We know what a sweet tooth Shiro has, and Coran— gods! The two of them _alone_ will massacre a whole trifle. And I needed the poison apples and the dead velvet cake, because I promised Lance spooky desserts.”

When Hunk really gets on a roll, Romelle knows to lean back and get comfortable. She loves hearing all about Hunk’s plans; he’s a maestro in the kitchen always, and loves making something special for his friends.

“And I can’t skip the mini key lime pies, those are Pidge’s favorite, with the little graham cracker crusts! But that’s not really fall, or spooky- at least it’s gluten-free. Maybe I can make them spooky? Ooh ooh, think, Hunk. See, spooky and _appetizing_ is the challenge. Seriously, no one wants to eat a slime mold bar, except maybe…”

The look that flits across his face says _Coran,_ and maybe also _Allura,_ because the ancient Alteans seem to have the palette for all kinds of truly objectionable foods. Romelle shudders to think.

“Is it too much?” Hunk looks at her earnestly, his heart in this throat all of a sudden. It’s easy to go to him, when it’s clear the man needs a hug.

“Not at all,” she says, squeezing him. He hugs her back and _wrow_ Hunk hugs are just the best. Romelle feels her cheeks heat. She really has to keep an eye on this little crush of hers. Speaking of which…

“How did things go with Pidge today?” She smiles. It’s absolutely sincere, albeit a bit wistful. They’ll be so good together, the kind of friends that just naturally become more.

“Well, um, about that,” Hunk looks away. “I was gearing up to ask her, had a real date planned and everything, and I just… hesitated.”

“Oh?” Romelle is more than a little surprised. Hunk only recently admitted to _himself_ about his feelings, and he told Romelle practically on the spot because he’s just forthcoming like that. Romelle definitely likes that about him. The more nervous Hunk gets, the more likely he’ll talk about it right away. It’s just his way.

Hunk is organizing ingredients on the counter. They’re already organized. He’s stalling.

“What happened?” she asks, hand brushing Hunk’s arm. “Do you want to tell me?”

“I always want to tell you,” he breathes a sigh, meeting her eyes. There’s a sweet red flush to his cheeks, and damn if that isn’t unbearably sweet. “I mean, we talked about a lot of things. In fact, we talked a lot about you. I told Pidge I needed to figure this out first, and that’s where we left it.”

“Wow,” Romelle feels achey all over. She had no idea how invested she was in them, and the thought of it not working out how he hoped is breaking her heart a little bit. “I’m sorry, Hunk. I thought you were so sure.”

“No, I am! It’s just— it didn’t feel right. Because you weren’t there with me.”

Romelle blinks at him. Sure, she doesn’t really get most Terran customs; Pidge’s classification of her sexual preference as ace and pan-romantic led to vargas of conversation, all of it fascinating and delightful albeit new. But Romelle really didn’t expect that having your best pals hovering over your shoulder had any part in human courtship rituals.

“Oh, aren’t you just the dearest,” she snorts. She doesn’t mean to laugh in that moment, but it startles out of her chest. “I mean, I can go with you, if you like. To ask Pidge on a date?”

Now Hunk is the one who looks startled.

She pinches his arm. “Whatever you need. I just want to see you happy, that’s all.”

“No, Romy, I—” Hunk’s chest heaves as he takes both of Romelle’s hands. “I meant… that I want to share that with you, too.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” he squeezes her wrists. “I really, really like you. I have for a while. It’s almost like we’ve gotten so close, I couldn’t see it! I wouldn’t want anything to change, but at the same time I do- I really, really, _really_ do.”

“Hunk.” She gives him the most affectionate, most exasperated glare. “I’m crazy about you. Heavens, you must know that.”

He looks for a moment like he’s burning her face into his memory. It makes her heart race. She’s pretty sure she’d know if he even breathed.

“And what about Pidge?” Romelle asks.

Hunk bites his lip. “You know how I feel about Pidge; that’s real, too.”

Romelle is quiet. It should be a lot to think about, but somehow it’s not. She keeps picturing Pidge and Hunk, how she’s been rooting for them since she first saw the sparks flying there. It feels like all she wanted, really: that they could have that, and Romelle have this.

Hunk lets her hands go. It’s gentle as anything, but it sort of stings as he withdraws.

“I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear,” he says, “and— and that’s okay! Of course, that’s okay. I just really, really needed you to know the truth. And seeing everybody together, like this party we’re gonna have, it’s just… that’s how I want things. I think I always have, but it’s like I couldn’t imagine it for real until right now. I just want us all to be together and feel what we feel, and for it not to be weird. Can it not be weird?”

“Hunk,” she shakes her head with a laugh, reaching for his hands again. “I’m not saying no.”

“You’re… not.” It’s not a question. “Does it… mean you’re saying yes?”

Romelle steps closer. “That depends,” a smile tugs her lips. “So I get to keep my best friend, and his best friend, and his cooking, and his hugs, and… more?”

“That’d be the idea, yes,” he stammers as he eyes her lips.

“So ask me.”

“What?”

“You still haven’t asked me,” Romelle smiles.

Hunk swallows. “Can we figure it out together?”

**#sheith**

“That doesn’t smell like coffee,” Keith groans up from his pillow.

“Good morning to you, too.” Shiro sits on the bed right by Keith’s scrunched-up nose, sipping from his mug that is definitely only half coffee and half pumpkin spice syrup and non-dairy creamer. “Don’t worry, baby. Yours is regular.”

“Black as my soul,” Keith mumbles, eyes still shut tight in a facsimile of sleep.

“Nonsense. You have a beautiful soul and I trust you with my life,” Shiro says.

Keith hides in his hair, but Shiro knows he’s smiling.

Eventually Keith claws his way up to rest against the paneled wall they pretend is a headboard; the mattress alone fills most of the small shack’s bedroom. Keith seems particularly exhausted this morning. Shiro hesitates before giving voice to his question.

“Thinking of going shopping tonight,” he starts. “Thought I’d browse the costume section. Just, you know, to get ideas. Would you want to come with me?”

Keith swallows a too-hot mouthful like it’s the nectar of life, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I would. But I can’t. I have another long day with the Blades, and I’m teaching that cadet combat seminar for the Garrison, you know, Mitchell’s class?”

Shiro nods, trying to hide his disappointment. He understands, of course.

“Tomorrow?” Keith offers, hopeful.

“Ah, well no, I can’t. I work late tomorrow.” They both hate it when their schedules don’t line up. “It’s okay.”

“Well, maybe you can… pick something out for us both?” Keith suggests. “I mean, I want to help, but I’m not really that opinionated. You know I’d go as whatever you want.”

That’s possibly the best answer at this point, but it doesn’t _feel_ like what Shiro wanted. He wanted to do this with Keith.

It’s okay, though. He can work with that. Shiro sips his sweet pumpkin-flavored drink (even he is reluctant to still call it coffee), and pulls Keith closer until the man’s head lolls onto Shiro’s shoulder. How could he want anything but this?

“Sure, baby. I’ll see what I can find.”

**#zezor**

“I don’t get it,” Zethrid scrunches up her eyes while she pretends to eye the dossier on Halloween traditions. She’s not really reading it. Why read it when Ezor’s reading it for her? “I thought it was all about MONSTERS, and MURDER.”

“Thought so too, but that’s not in here.” Ezor flicks down through the remaining section headings and groans as she slaps the tablet down on the tabletop. “It keeps going ON and ON about human offspring, and fire-retardant novelty onesies, and safe candy acquisition practices. BORing.”

Zethrid squints down at one of the paragraphs. That’s a lie; she’s mostly looking at the illustration of a kid picking out a piece of candy. “Do they at least poison some of the candy first?”

“Not even! It’s like it’s… wholesome or something.” Ezor shudders.

Zethrid grunts. “Maybe that’s what they WANT us to think.”

“YES!” Ezor leaps to her feet. “You’re so RIGHT. Ho ho ho, Zethrid, you’re onto something. This is, like, the Garrison-official crap that they give their officers for their precious little brats! It’s probably just sanitized.”

Zethrid nods sagely. “They really had us going for a dobash.”

Ezor grabs her tablet and goes straight to the search engine. “I’ll just have to do my OWN research.”

As fate would have it, going looking for something on the internet almost assures you will find it.

**#punkelle**

“Nope, nope, nope,” Pidge orders from somewhere across the lab floor, “close your eyes, turn around!”

Romelle did knock on Pidge’s lab door first before entering, but when she didn’t hear any response she admittedly got impatient and thought she should give it a go.

“I didn’t see anything, I swear it!” Romelle calls back. With her eyes closed, she feels Pidge steering her with confident hands on her waist, most likely into the little adjacent office by the sound of the door clicking shut.

“Do Alteans as a rule operate on ‘ask forgiveness, not permission,’ or is that just the only three Alteans I know?” There’s a smile in Pidge’s voice even when it’s chiding.

“May I open my eyes yet?” Romelle pouts.

“That’s better,” Pidge laughs, “and yes.” Romelle blinks her eyes open, looking down at Pidge’s smirking face. It’s funny how with one’s eyes closed, it’s easy to forget the human’s stature. She’s kind of larger than life.

“What is all the fuss about?”

“Halloween surprises. You’ll see. What are these?” Pidge is looking at the bouquet she brought.

“Oh! I forgot for a tick. These are for you!” Romelle shoves the bundle of sunflowers, bright Gerber daisies and peach roses into Pidge’s arms.

Pidge blinks. “What for?”

“It’s, um, well. I wanted to bring you something nice. A celebration? Oh dear, are flowers not an appropriate gift for—” Romelle’s stomach flips. She’s not usually _nervous_ like this. “I’m sorry, what do I even call us?”

Pidge’s look softens. “Metamours, if you want. Or, you know, friends.” Her eyes sparkle with teasing. “Do you, uh, want a hug?”

“PLEASE.” Romelle moves so fast. it’s really a feat of dexterity when Pidge swings the heavy bouquet out of harm’s way first. “Pidge, I’m so happy I could explode.”

“Don’t explode,” Pidge mutters into her chest.

“I won’t, but I could.”

Pidge pulls a little tighter. “I… think I know the feeling.”

“Really? And I must ask, honestly,” Romelle pulls back enough to see the other’s face. “Is this what you want? I… I’ve wanted so much to see you two together. Hunk thinks the world of you. What you have, it’s something very special, I would never want to jeopardize that—”

Romelle stops talking at the press of Pidge’s fingers to her lips. 

“Romy,” Pidge shakes her head, lowering her hand. “You should see the moony look he makes when he brings you up. Come to think of it, I probably have footage of it. I’ll prove it to you. But, regardless. I’ve… kind of been rooting for you guys for a while.”

“You knew? But Hunk only just realized? OH!”

“Yes, oh,” Pidge snorts. “Love the man, but I think he was literally the last to know.”

“Okay, that checks out.”

“And, Romelle?” Pidge looks up at her, her eyes honey-warm. “I do want this. There’s no one I’d trust more with Hunk’s feelings, honestly. And I’d like to be closer with you, too.”

“C-c-closer... meaning…?”

“Meaning,” Pidge bites her lip, “meaning whatever we want it to mean.”

Romelle feels her cheeks heat.

“But right now, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Right, right, I’ll just be going—”

“—NOT that way, you won’t,” Pidge tugs her back by the arm with remarkable strength for a small human, directing her to the second door out into the hall. “I said, it’s a surprise.”

**#sheith**

Shiro is almost done with his paperwork. He would _already_ be done, but his gaze keeps slipping to the door of his office. Through the cozy waiting room and out into the hall, he can see where Keith leans against the railing in his sinfully tight Blades uniform.

He’s there with Veronica and Acxa, the three friends talking in hushed voices. It isn’t distracting, or it shouldn’t be, but Shiro’s mind wanders too easily to Keith.

Especially Keith in space spandex.

Maybe they should revisit the superhero costume ideas?

Except, that angle didn’t work. Nothing he’s tried has. Everything with Keith is so easy, why is _this_ of all things so hard?

Maybe… a bunny, and a carrot. No, wait, no furry creatures.

Cookie and milk? But milk also goes with cereal, and Pidge probably reminds Keith of cereal, and that’s how that cookie crumbles.

Ketchup and mustard? Shiro reminds himself that salt and pepper didn’t go over so well… Bacon and eggs?

Shiro’s stomach grumbles. No more food costume ideas on an empty stomach.

Costume shopping the prior afternoon was kind of a bust. There were plenty of outfits, but being there without Keith reminded Shiro how much he actually doesn’t care one iota about that part. It’s being with Keith that brought out this craving, and without Keith by his side it kind of tastes like ash.

Shiro just needs to finish this last, blasted form, so he and Keith can go home for the night. He can already feel that this’ll be one of those nights where he’ll hand Keith the hoverbike keys. Shiro wants to wrap his arms around this beautiful, fierce man that he loves, drape himself over Keith’s back, and let Keith carry him off into the sunset.

It seems like the paperwork never ends, which reminds Shiro that he needs to sit down and rethink this whole working-for-the-Garrison thing, decide if it’s really what he wants after all. Keith has made perfectly clear he will follow him wherever he wants to be. The honest truth is that Shiro wants to follow Keith, so one of them is going to have to make up his mind. He’s got a new lease on life— his health, freedom, and infinite possibilities.

And the love of his life to share it with.

“Working too hard, Captain,” Veronica calls to him, leaning in the outer door frame under some obnoxious fake spiderwebs that _someone,_ probably Coran, thought would spruce up the office. The old Altean did seem truly delighted that cobwebs were _in._

“I’m almost done, I promise!” Shiro answers.

Veronica knows better than to push. That’s Keith’s job, she would probably say. As she turns away, Shiro can see their little congregation has grown; Romelle is with them now, wearing a knitted scarf the size of a picnic blanket and positively bouncing on the balls of her feet over some exciting news.

Keith smiles at her and he is absolute sunshine. And rather than thinking of what pairs well with sunshine (possibly a flower, or a sun-and-moon duo? Binary stars?), Shiro is perfectly caught in the moment as Keith pulls Romelle into a hug.

Shiro’s heart surges. Keith wasn’t so easy with his affection, back in early days. But he’s really taken to it, with their friends, and taking Shiro’s breath away while he’s at it.

 _And you know what?_ Shiro thinks. _That’s all I need._ He doesn’t need to be Bert and Ernie or two uncomfortable halves of a horse.

As long as he has Keith and Keith is happy _,_ that’s more than enough.

**#sheith**

Keith meets Shiro at home on Friday, the days getting shorter and the evening crisp. Even so, Shiro likes sitting on their little porch. He’s reading a book, a roasting pan just started in the oven. The whole shack will smell of caramelizing root vegetables and the cider he’s been slowly heating on the stove. 

Halloween is tomorrow, but it’s no big deal. It’s fine. Shiro’s sure that whatever they wear will be just fine. Right now, it’s Friday night and he has Keith all to himself.

Hopping down from the hoverbike, Keith pulls his helmet off and shakes out his hair like a dream. Shiro gets lost in watching him move.

“What’s all this?” Keith grins.

“Huh?”

Keith gestures at the pumpkin Shiro carved with a toothy little smile, tiny tea light already inside. And there might be a little bowl of chocolate kisses on the table next to him, but Shiro’s not expecting any treat-or-treaters in the middle of nowhere. He just wanted a little chocolate for himself— no big deal. Chocolate is one of those things he really grew to miss in space.

“I was feeling a little festive,” Shiro says meekly. “Here, how about a mug of cider? It’s really good stuff.” He’s already making a beeline for the stovetop before Keith has time to answer.

“You really went all out,” Keith murmurs.

Shiro wants to deny that— it’s nothing, really nothing at all— but Keith slides up against his hip and kisses Shiro’s jaw even as he accepts the handle of the mug. Keith takes a whiff of the steaming liquid and sighs with pleasure.

“You’re an angel.”

Shiro purses his lips. The temptation is strong— an angel-demon duo _would_ be cute, why didn’t he think of that one before?— but he’s not going to fall into that again. Before he can overthink it, he whisks Keith back out onto the stoop to sit close together with their cider, waiting for their dinner to cook, watching the sun set over the ruddy landscape.

“So,” Keith clears his throat, “did you ever decide what you were going to wear tomorrow?”

“Ah, no,” Shiro hums and kisses his cheek.

Keith gives him one of those penetrating looks. It’s the kind that Shiro knows he can’t hide from, but right now he’s feeling stubborn enough to try.

“I’m missing something.”

“What?”

“I’m missing something,” Keith’s smile wobbles. “You were really excited, like it had to be the perfect idea, and now you don’t care? C’mon, Shiro. Just… tell me what I missed.”

Shiro is startled. He never meant for Keith to feel bad about it. If it was really important, of course he’d talk about it.

Except… it’s been bothering him for a week and all he did was try and bottle it up, put the urge away on a shelf to hopefully forget about.

“I...”

It’s not the first time Shiro is at a loss for words where Keith is concerned. It took him years of pining to confess he’s desperately in love with Keith. But that was _big._ Something about this makes Shiro feel small.

Keith leans into Shiro’s arm, looking out at the horizon.

“I don’t really know how to be a good partner.” Keith’s words are a bucket of ice water over Shiro’s head. Keith is the _best_ partner. “But… it’s easier because it’s you. When have we not been a team?”

“Never.”

Keith hums. “Yeah. Never.”

“So,” Shiro bites his lip. “Can our costumes be on the same team?”

Keith looks up at him. “Like… the Avengers?”

Shiro smiles. “Sure. Anything. Mario and Luigi. Cat and mouse. Coffee and cream,” Shiro laughs because he wants to cry. This is such an embarrassing thing to be upset about. “I just want to do this together. As a couple.”

Keith slowly smiles. “Is that why you kept trying to be my furry friend?” Shiro buries his face in his hands as he wheezes. Keith soldiers on. “Shiro, I’d follow you to the end of the universe. If you want me to wear the back half of a horse for an evening, I’ll do it.”

“I’d let you be the front half,” Shiro teases. His vision shimmers. He will _not_ cry.

Keith takes his face in hand. “Is that really all that was bothering you? You’re not just sparing my feelings right now?”

“No, it’s… really that stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. Not if it’s how you feel.” Keith kisses him lightly. “And you wouldn’t say it was stupid if I wanted it. Like if I… wanted to carve a pumpkin, or something.”

“Do you?” Shiro’s eyes go wide. “I have two more!”

“Kind of,” Keith laughs at Shiro’s eagerness. “But do I have to use those stupid little tools, or can I just cut it with my knife?”

“I mean, the _stupid tools_ are a fine, wholesome, time-honored tradition, but you do you, baby,” Shiro kisses his nose. “And you’re right. I wouldn’t think it was stupid, if you wanted it.”

Keith reaches for Shiro and kisses him real slow. He doesn’t stop until the cider in their hands is tepid and the sky is deepening like embers.

“So, name your fighter,” Keith says at last. “Are we going, like, tooth fairy and the dentist, or sun and moon, or Mars and Mars Rover? How do we do this?”

“Okay, you as the tooth fairy might give me a horny heart attack, so—”

“—Shiro, clearly _you_ are the tooth fairy in this AU. C’mon.”

Shiro looks at Keith sideways. Is that another fetish he needs to ask Keith about? “Okay, but regardless… aren’t we kind of out of time?” Shiro grimaces. “Sorry, baby, I should have spoken up sooner. That’s on me. It doesn’t matter what we wear to the party.”

“Yes, you should have just told me, and no, I’m not giving up now,” Keith sets his jaw. “We’ll dress you in blue and green and I will tape a piece of paper to my chest that says ‘He’s My World.’”

Shiro is too surprised to muster any embarrassment at how he clutches his hands over his heart. “How dare you make that sound so sweet.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Keith looks at him so earnestly. “Won’t you let me spoil you, just a little?”

Shiro’s cheeks flush hot. God, Keith is so good to him.

“Sun and moon was a good idea,” Shiro admits. “A little craft paper would work. Or Earth and the moon…”

“Just a planet and its natural satellite,” Keith flashes him a toothy grin.

Shiro can’t stop smiling. “I’ll be a bee and you be a flower.”

“If I’m gonna be a flower, you’re the sunshine.”

“Keith,” Shiro gasps. “Who _are_ you?”

“Just a rain cloud, gazing at his brilliant rainbow.” Even laying it on so thick, Keith blushes like he can’t deny it’s fucking true.

“If I’m the rainbow,” Shiro says, “then you’re the pot of gold.”

“Whatever makes you happy, rainbow boy,” Keith squeezes his thigh. “Get out the construction paper. And the stupid little pumpkin tools. We’ve got work to do.”

**#zezor**

The internet taught Ezor many useful things about Earth’s supernatural lore, and what kind of monsters and mayhem could be expected on the night of All Hallows’ Eve.

There was also a whole r/HalloweenPranks subreddit that overflowed with mischief, more typically put into practice by adolescent humans with too little to occupy them. It was never intended to fall into alien hands.

But Ezor and Zethrid aren’t known for their attention span, at least not towards anything that isn’t potentially and immediately lethal. Saturday morning arrives with Ezor paging through a blog post on last minute costume ideas. She’s reading out the promising ones, while Zethrid sprawls on the couch with her head in Ezor’s lap.

“How about Cruella de Vil? Apparently she skins puppies and sews them into her garments.”

Zethrid laughs. “Nice. Let me see.” She squints at the cartoon on the tablet screen. “Hm. Pass.”

“Yeah, doesn’t look all that menacing to me,” Ezor replies. “And where will we get enough puppies on short notice?”

“Too much work,” Zethrid agrees. She has begun repeatedly and furiously bouncing a rubber eyeball off of the nearby window, but it hasn’t broken yet and Ezor just smiles affectionately down at the homicidal love of her life.

“Here’s one, babe. Catwoman.”

“No,” Zethrid growls as she lobs the rubber eyeball with unnecessary force. “I want to be… WOLFwoman.”

“Hm, you mean like a werewolf woman?” Ezor points to another illustration on the screen, but Zethrid isn’t really looking.

“NO, WOLFWOMAN,” Zethrid snarls back. “Or— how about Poisonous Snake Woman?”

Ezor pets her girlfriend’s fuzzy ears until the other starts to purr. She probably shouldn’t tell Zeth that there _is_ a bit of a Terran cat resemblance here, from what she’s learned of the creatures, but if wolf is what Zethrid wants, Ezor won’t stand in her way.

 _Poison,_ Ezor hums at the thought. She saw one like that on an earlier page…

“Oh here!” Ezor titters as she finds the one she was thinking of. “How about Poison Ivy?” She turns the tablet to show her.

Zethrid balks. “Why in great kreck would anyone want to be a plant woman?”

“But… poison, baby. Let’s focus on the poison. One thing at a time.”

Zethrid pouts, then brightens.

“I’ve got it,” she rumbles. “Poisonous Wolfwoman.” Her next ball toss does break the window, which seems to please her immensely, judging by Zethrid’s arms raised in victory. If anyone bothered to explain housing deposits to the two of them, it fell on death ears.

“I love you,” Ezor coos adoringly and sucks a sharp mark at Zethrid’s wrist. One thing leads to another, and Terran traditions become an afterthought, put off for at least another hour.

Ezor can always just go as a ghost and haunt the place, right?

**#veracxa**

Veronica is watching her look come together piece by piece in the full-length bedroom mirror. She’s buttoning the high-collared starched blouse, and tying the black lace cravat. Her long black skirt was a bargain find, ruched up to pool over the front of her knees revealing knee-high boots.

Veronica added the rest of the details herself, her hips crisscrossed with leather straps and loops of bronze chain swaying from brass eyelets over her flanks. Victorian steampunk mistress is a _go._

“Am I presentable?” Acxa asks from the doorway.

Veronica whirls to see her, chirping excitedly at the velvety black kitten ears. The tight, shiny black catsuit makes Veronica want to meow.

Acxa looks uncertain. “Is that good or bad?”

“The best!” Veronica squeals, launching herself at her smoking hot girlfriend. “I’ll help you draw on your whiskers,” she says, nuzzling her nose at Acxa’s cheek. Probably best to add that touch at the very last minute, she thinks, mouthing her way back to the other woman’s lips.

Acxa makes a little sigh of pleasure as Veronica licks into her mouth. It’s a tiny sound, but it’s still some kind of triumph. If being raised as a child soldier taught her anything, silence and self-control topped the list. She was still learning to let her guard down, to enjoy this newfound piece.

Veronica thrills at every sweet sound she coaxed from the woman’s lips.

Acxa meets her eyes. “Your ensemble is very elegant.” She fingers the knot of black lace over Veronica’s throat, fascinated. “I have never seen you dress in this manner.”

“Well,” Veronica kisses her girlfriend’s nose, “it wouldn’t be a costume if I dressed like this every day, now would it?” She pulls back a bit to present herself. “So you like it?”

“Very much.”

Veronica hides her blushing with a flurry of action. “Here,” she reaches for the corset on the bed, “will you lace me up?” She stands by the bedpost holding the boned brocade in place under her bust.

“I will… try.” Acxa steps forward. “Teach me the procedure.”

“Like shoe laces. Remember shoe laces?” Acxa nods. “Okay,” Veronica says. “Like that, all the way down the back, but… tighter.”

Acxa starts threading the silk cord in the middle where Veronica instructed. She seems worried.

“You are quite sure this garment is your size?”

Veronica laughs as she braces herself on the bedpost, a bit more turned on by the whole thing than she planned for.

“Only one way to find out.”

**#mattor**

Matt knocks softly on the bedroom door. Lotor’s been in there for almost an hour and they really should get going any minute here. He doesn’t hear the shower running or anything, but there’s no answer.

He clears his throat. “Hey kitten?”

“I told you, I am not a kit.” Lotor’s voice is muffled by the door, which is closed and _locked,_ Matt already checked.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Perfectly,” Lotor answers with a smile in his voice. That’s good, at least. “I’ll be out in five dobashes.”

Matt sits on the sofa to wait. He’s wearing a nun habit and it’s a bit stifling already. The sleeping mask is hard to see through, even with the cleverly-devised slits, but it’ll all be worth it for the punchline. He hugs his novelty teddy bear to his chest.

“May I enter?”

Matt startles to his feet at Lotor’s voice. He fumbles to pull the sleeping mask down so he can see properly, because he can’t really make heads or tails of what he’s seeing through the slits.

Turns out the mask is not the problem. Matt’s mouth hangs open, speechless.

“You must invite me in, I am told.” Lotor’s sweet lilt is always a little menacing, as is the glint of his golden eyes in low light. But that’s not what has Matt frozen.

No, Matt can’t stop gaping at the trail of faux blood dribbling from Lotor’s lips down over his… décolletage? Is that a fucking word? The prince is wearing a vampire’s cape, racy lingerie in red and black, and 4-inch stilettos.

“Oh, come now,” Lotor pouts, “can you not play along? Invite me over the threshold?” he pleads. “That’s when the fun part starts.”

That rattles Matt back to his senses. “You- that’s- that is just for outside doors, but okay, come in!” Matt tosses the teddy bear on the sofa behind him, grateful that his nun habit is hiding his extremely confused boner. “What is all of this?”

“I am an erotic vampire,” Lotor purrs. “I will seduce you and make you mine for all of eternity.”

Matt maybe swoons a little bit. The look is a touch more Frank N. Furter than Queen of the Damned, but Matt is not complaining, and he really is secretly hoping the Galran prince plans to keep him for the long haul.

“Wow.”

Lotor is looking at Matt’s costume. “Well, aren’t you coy,” he teases, fingers tracing down over Matt’s chest. “What are you hiding under there?”

“Uh…” _A raging hard-on?_ “Boxers? Wait, shit. Hold on!” Matt fumbles the sleeping mask back over his eyes and dives for his teddy bear. He starts shuffling forward stiffly, doing his best impression of a walking in his sleep.

Lotor looks on silently.

“Ask me what my costume is,” Matt stage whispers.

“I don’t understand,” Lotor replies.

Matt represses a sigh. “What do you call a sleepwalking nun?”

“I don’t know what that is?” Lotor answers.

“A Roamin’ Catholic!” Matt cackles. He knows Lotor will need context for that one, but it’s the first time he’s gotten to say it and he definitely still finds it hilarious.

Except Lotor is looking more and more uncertain by the minute. “Your costume does not have sex appeal.”

“Uh. Ouch?”

Lotor shakes himself. “No! No, that is _not_ what I meant. Only, that infuriating blue paladin lied to me.”

Uh oh. “What did Lance say to you?”

“That a sexy version of the vampire character would be a superior choice, and that I should surprise you with it.”

Lotor rubs his temple. He tends to look particularly murderous when he pouts, sharp little fangs on display, and the fake gore certainly doesn’t lessen the effect.

“He was pranking me, wasn’t he?”

“Maybe?”

“I will kill him.”

“No, no, no killing. I mean, he’s not wrong? Sexy costumes definitely are more popular this time of year. But not, like, required. And ‘sexy’ usually isn’t also… bloody?”

Lotor blinks. “I regret making a fool of myself in this manner, and for making us late to the gathering. I will go put on my slacks as originally planned—”

“—Hold on,” Matt reaches out to stop him. He’s nowhere near ready to let go of the chaotically horny sight of his femme vampy boyfriend. “Don’t change your costume. _I’ll_ match you.”

“But why?” Lotor cocks his head. “You were very proud of your joke. It was adorable.” A smile tugs at his lips.

Matt snorts. “Thanks. But… really, I can make this work, I promise. Give me ten minutes.”

“If you’re sure,” Lotor acquiesces.

Matt nods enthusiastically “SO sure. And don’t you _dare_ take that off without me,” he winks.

**#allurance**

Lance paces as Hunk mixes a batch of spooky green punch. It’s time to party and the sorbet is melting and fizzing in the spider-etched punch bowl resting on a ring of UV light, while Hunk pours in a little more of this and that. Of the various concoctions he’s prepared, this one is absolutely a hangover waiting to happen.

Lance is wearing a hole in the dining room rug.

“What if she thinks it’s stupid,” Lance whines.

“When has Allura ever thought you were stupid?” Lance glares at him. “Okay, aside from the first year or so that you guys knew each other,” he amends. “Year and a half?”

“Not helping, Hunk!” Lance buries his face in his hands, chunky chain swinging from his neck as he squirms in mock agony. Lance is dressed like some kind of playboy DJ, which is apparently what he was going for? Whatever, Hunk has never watched Jersey Shore, so he’ll have to take the blue paladin’s word for it.

“Quit worrying, you look great! Very Pauly G.”

“It’s Pauly D! DEE!”

“That’s what I meant!” Hunk groans. “Here, stir this.”

“How did you wind up being Mr. Confident, anyhow?” Lance grumbles as he begrudgingly swirls the ladle Hunk forces into his hand. “I mean, how do you have that swagger dresses as a ninety year-old woman in oven mitts!”

“Excuse you, I don’t _swagger,_ and Mary Berry is a youthful 85.”

“Whatever!” Lance rolls his eyes. “My point is, you are cheerily dolled up Britain’s baking gran-gran, you have TWO new girlfriends in the last couple of days, and you’re not even breaking a sweat!”

“Oh, I’m sweating alright. Like a yalmor in heat.” Hunk shudders. He hates yalmors; not a good memory, also guaranteed to make Hunk sweat. “Pour me a sorbet punch, will you?”

And yeah, Hunk possibly should have thought more about the logistics of donning a floral blazer and a coiffed white wig for the entire night, and that’s without the baking mitts that he considers part of the ensemble.

Lance huffs as he ladles a Dixie cup full of the boozy green sludge, and then downs it himself. _Typical._ Lance hums at the taste, squinting into the plastic cup. “That is… actually really good.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough _helping.”_ Hunk shoos Lance out of the kitchen.

“Boys,” Allura calls from the bathroom down the hall. She’s laughing at some private joke. “If you are ready, I am coming out.”

Lance smooths his hands over his wig and drops the headphones into place over one of his ears.

When Allura emerges, at first all that Hunk hears is the sound of Lance choking. As if she isn’t already an Amazonian princess, the extra two feet of height she put on just aren’t fair, and the warrior princess bikini is thirsty as heck. But then there’s the sound of hoofbeats, and— oh God. Is she an actual centaur??

“What do you think?” Allura giggles with a gorgeous blush high on her cheeks. It’s a good thing the living area has high ceilings. She is _towering._

Lance makes another inhuman noise.

Hunk rushes off to answer the doorbell— although that is definitely Lance’s job for the evening— because Lance is admittedly right where he should be at the moment.

**#sheith**

“You ready?”

“Oh yeah,” Keith smirks, eyeing Shiro up and down in his all-black skintight flight suit that leaves nothing to the imagination. Shiro does have to wonder if that was the real motivation for why they landed so squarely on this costume idea out of all of them.

“You keep looking at me like that and I’m going to get an inconvenient hard-on,” Shiro stage whispers, bumping Keith with his shoulder.

After carving some pumpkins and making a plan, then a hasty Halloween morning run to the art supply store, and several messy mishaps later, all Shiro can do is admire his radiant boyfriend and their last-minute triumph.

“Alright, you first, like we planned,” Keith says, hovering a bit behind Shiro’s shoulder as they listen to the doorbell ring inside.

Hunk opens the door dressed as Mary Berry, and Shiro immediately approves. Seeing Hunk first is a clue that the night has already spiraled away from the original plan, because Lance would definitely want to do that part. Hunk is sweating like he’s working his ass off.

“You guys made it!” Hunk sounds more relieved than excited, but it’s definitely a little of both.

“Where’s Lance?” Keith asks.

“Well, um, you see,” Hunk dabs his forehead with a hankie, “Allura is kind of a horse… woman… at the moment. Let’s give them one a minute, yeah?”

Horse woman? Keith snorts. Shiro tries to imagine this rodeo getup and, well, it doesn’t do it for him but he’s happy for Lance.

“Keith, you’re… sparkly?”

It’s true. With Shiro’s help, Keith destroyed a spare Atlas flight suit with gold spray paint (Atlas will forgive him, even if the Garrison wouldn’t approve) and an unforgivable amount of gold glitter glue applied in a spiral pattern. He’s a shimmering, swirling vortex of moving light.

“Sparkle Keith is, well, new. Never saw that coming. WAIT, wait. Let me guess.” Hunk looks back and forth between the two of them. “Night and day, right? That is disgustingly cute. Way better than salt and pepper, dude,” Hunk tells Shiro pointedly as he waves them inside.

Keith pokes Shiro’s arm as they pass. “You told Hunk about salt and pepper?”

“Reliving one of my more pathetic moments, yes,” Shiro groans. “Yes I did. So, should we tell him, Keith?”

Hunk squints. “Tell me… ?”

“The costume isn’t night and day, though that did come up.” Shiro folds his arms across his chest and waits.

Hunk points at Keith. “C-3PO?”

 _Oh,_ Shiro thinks. That is _good._ But Keith shakes his head no with a patient smirk.

Hunk purses his lips, pointing at Shiro this time. “Black… paladin?”

Keith snorts. “He’s almost as bad as me.”

“Hey now,” Hunk scowls. “I give up, what are you guys?”

“I’m a black hole,” Shiro declares, perhaps a bit more triumphantly than he intended.

On cue, Keith leaps in front of Shiro in a fighting stance. It’s sudden and pretty menacing, honestly; Hunk yelps and cowers back as Keith snarls, “And I’m the event horizon, so cross me and be destroyed.”

“Oookay, wow, yeah,” Hunk titters nervously, “good one! Never would have CROSSED my mind, guys— get it? Anyway, I’ve got drinks to mix, so make yourselves at home!”

Hunk backs away, leaving them on the landing.

Shiro pulls his devastating boyfriend in by his sparkly waist, leaving glitter in his wake.

“How was that?” Keith twists to look up at Shiro, looking devilishly pleased.

“You,” Shiro growls, nipping at Keith’s ear, “are amazing.”

Keith huffs a laugh. “Ready for the same joke all night, right?”

Shiro nods solemnly. He is! He so is.

“And hey,” Keith adds, “if you want me to knock it off and, like, _not_ chase everyone away from you at a certain point in the night, just say the word. Alright?”

Shiro kisses Keith soundly. “No hints this time,” he promises. “I swear you’ll be the first to know.”

**#punkelle**

The doorbell rings again just as Shiro and Keith are fawning over centaur Allura and making merciless fun of Lance.

“I’ll get it,” Hunk calls back to them. It’s fashionably-late-o’clock and he still hasn’t gotten any spooky drinks out. The last thing Hunk hears is Keith asking Lance if those are fake abs. Brutal.

It’s Krolia at the door, intimidating as ever, not just because she’s dressed as a rather threatening-looking Hitchcock-era spy. She shakes Hunk’s hand and doesn’t smile, and he’s trying to remember if that’s normal or if she’s just really into her character?

But Romelle is hot on her heels, and dauntless as usual; she hugs Krolia (the Mom of Marmora gives hugs?) and then swoops in to kiss Hunk square on the lips. He’s too smitten to even stammer out one of his usual apologies for absolutely nothing. Krolia makes her way inside while they linger on the stoop.

“You look adorable!” Romelle croons, petting his Mary Berry wig. “This is your baking grandma you like to watch?”

“Why, that I am,” Hunk beams, remembering to make a stab at a bit of a posh accent. He’s awful at it, but no one in this crowd will know the difference. “And you, dear, are going to be the bell of the ball!” he praises.

He really thinks so. She’s dressed like a queen— or an Alice in Wonderland parody of one, anyhow, with a heart-shaped bodice and a gold paper crown— and there are stuffed kittens and puppies stitched here and there to her skirts and her costume parasol.

“Let me guess,” Hunk smiles. “It’s Reigning Cats and Dogs!”

She claps his arm. “You knew that one already? Well, shoot,” she laughs.

“No, it’s so great!” he insists. “You know, it’s a good thing when people can guess it, you know? You did so well. Amazing.” Gosh, he’s gushing. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

“No, but Pidge kindly sent me a list of wordplay costumes! Apparently I haven’t seen enough of your Earth television, but this one sounded cute.”

“You’re beautiful,” Hunk says quickly. He can’t even reign it in.

Romelle leans in for another swift kiss before they go inside.

This is his life now. Hunk lets that sink in as he pulls Romelle into the kitchen by the hand, fussing over floaty cocktail eyeballs and batwing umbrellas. He’s floating. He can’t wait for Pidge to get there, too.

**#sheith #allurance #punkelle**

**#mattor #veracxa #zezor #kolivantok**

As people really start pouring in, Lance peels himself away from centaur Allura who is too tall at the moment for the foyer and has to stay in the living area. She wants to help Hunk assemble the themed drinks he’s making as people come through, but Hunk draws the line at giant horses sharing his prep space.

You see, Allura keeps forgetting she has a thousand pounds of rear haunches she isn’t used to maneuvering, and Hunk just prays that everyone is wise enough to watch their feet.

The princess takes the hint and stands on the far side of the kitchen island, pointing out the treats as their friends wander near. She doesn’t get most of the spooky references, pointing to the apple slice ‘gums’ stuffed with caramel peanut ‘rotting teeth’ and tells Keith “they’re just precious, aren’t they?” Hunk does appreciate her enthusiasm.

The floating eyeball jello shots, though... Allura heaves a little at the sight, and Romelle doesn’t seem immune to that one, either. Hunk preens: intercultural revulsion achieved.

Nadia runs into the living room in as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, and no one’s really surprised when James and Ina turn out to be Cowardly Lion and Tin Man respectively. Pretty clear Rizavi orchestrated that.

But Ryan saunters in after them in a flower crown and vintage dress under a massive maroon scarf. He’s wearing at least eight chunky cabochon rings and carrying an empty portrait frame.

“You don’t look the Scarecrow,” Lance points out. Ryan pins him with a look. “Not that that’s a problem!” Lance raises both hands in surrender, rushing off at the doorbell.

“You know, Frida Kahlo is a feminist icon,” Shiro says with a smile.

Kinkade brightens. “THANK you!” he sighs. “At least someone here has taste.”

The sounds of sibling squabbles waft from the door as Veronica and Acxa make their way inside.

“Whoa,” Keith mutters, checking out the steampunk details. “That is seriously cool.”

“Do I win best dressed?” Veronica twirls to swish her skirts, gesturing with her gooseneck cane.

“I mean, probably,” Keith shrugs, “presuming transformation is cheating?”

Allura balks. “I don’t cheat! Honey, did I cheat?” She juts out her lower lip at Lance.

“Don’t listen to glitter herpes over here,” Lance answers, petting his lover’s softly-furred haunches. “He’s just jealous. You know what they say: Cheat to Win,” Lance chants.

Acxa squints at him. “Then it’s not… winning?”

Keith looks vindicated.

Hunk cuts in offering a round of drinks: your choice of sorbet slime or blood punch, with or without floating candy skulls.

When Matt and Lotor arrive, Lance meets them at the door with an indignant squawk that rings through the house. Everyone soon sees why. Lotor the smutty vampire pixie is confusing enough, and Matt—

“Stripper nun?” Shiro chokes out the words around a sticky bite of poison apple. Keith looks ready to employ the heimlich if necessary.

No one can think of a better description. Matt’s nun habit hangs open to show off some slinky-tight black boy shorts, a rosary, and—

“Are those nipple tassels?” Veronica smirks.

Romelle is currently inspecting one of them closely, and Hunk almost faints when she gives it a flick. Matt takes it in stride, giving a little shimmy to make them twirl.

“You betcha,” Matt laughs.

No one wants to think too hard about the extremely smug look on Lotor's face.

Coran enters looking even more like the Tin Man than Leifsdottir does. Allura giggles. Apparently he decided to go as an Altean celebrity from ten thousand years ago, so of course absolutely no one has heard of the person except for her.

“It is I, the great and amazing Jeefker von Ranninbaucher!” Coran announces with a flick of his highly-moussed hair. “Inventor of the floorkiter AND the rangtumbler! Where would modernity be without him,” he ponders wistfully.

Everyone looks at Allura.

“The floorkiter _was_ very fashionable in our day,” she says, failing to hide her mirth behind her hand.

Maybe the tin hat is the floorkiter? Who the hell knows.

They move on, mostly because Coran is clearly having an aneurysm about Krolia’s choice of costume.

“But you’re a spy in real life!” he objects. Krolia and Shiro have a moment of bonding over it and Coran’s eyes visibly twitch.

“Uh, Lance?” Hunk calls. “Pidge just texted. She… wants us to turn off the lights?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “And you say I’M dramatic? Fine, flip the switch, but the string lights and Jack-o’-lanterns stay lit!”

Hunk makes a mock salute. “I’ll tell her.”

Pidge lets herself in. At first all they see is her lab coat, but there’s something hovering over her head— several somethings.

“Behold!” Pidge booms as the _somethings_ zoom forward without warning. Just about everyone hits the floor while Keith suddenly has his blade out. Where does he even carry that thing?

“Oh my God,” Shiro straightens up from his fighting stance as the little flying robot hovers before his eyes. It’s a little black lion.

“Are these—”

“How did you—”

The five little lions spin off from where they greeted their paladins, doing a little aerial show overhead.

“Aren’t they great?” Pidge beams. “I made one for each of you. They’re AI-enabled.”

“They’re wonderful!” Allura calls as the blue one refreezes her sorbet drink. “And helpful.”

The red lion perches on Lance’s shoulder like a strange parrot. He strokes her under the chin. “Hey there, pretty kitty,” he coos. “But wait,” Lance points at Pidge’s lab coat, “what are YOU supposed to be?”

“Mad scientist,” she deadpans.

Coran’s head is steaming.

Keith and Shiro are cooing over their little black lion, who’s being a little ham and showing off her awesome crystalline wings. Shiro _might_ shed a tear when she perches on his shoulder.

Hunk holds out his hand for the little yellow lion to perch there. She’s heavier than she looks. His insides go all squirmy as she quirks her little lion head, looking up at him with bright golden eyes.

“They’re incredible,” Hunk praises as Pidge cozies up to him and wraps her tiny arms around his middle. “I mean, even for you, this is a lot. No wonder you’ve been busy.”

“You have no idea,” Pidge groans, burying her face in Mary Berry’s fresh floral blazer. Yellow flits over to Romelle’s shoulder so Hunk can hug her back properly. “I _kinda_ ran out of time to fine-tune. I just hope lil red doesn’t set anything on fire.”

They both look at Lance in his questionable wig and Direct TV tank top, currently encouraging Coran to pet his fake abs.

“Or maybe a _little_ bit of fire’s okay,” Romelle jokes, reading their minds.

“Just a singe,” Hunk adds.

“Are you kidding?” Pidge pokes Hunk’s gut, “you’d be smelling burnt plastic in here for days. Speaking of questionable aromas, have you seen my brother?”

Hunk snorts. “OH, he’s around here somewhere.”

Pidge pulls back to look at him. “They’re fucking, aren’t they? Wow, why am I not even surprised.”

Hunk kisses her nose.

Kosmo chooses that moment to show up in a flash of motes, looking for head scritches.

Coran doesn’t miss a beat. “And what is the wolf’s costume?”

“He’s a wolf,” Keith says. He blinks at Shiro and everyone else who’s suddenly gone silent. “What?”

There’s a last wave of party-goers, bringing both Kolivan and Antok— a cute pair of witches with pointy hats and accessory brooms— and Zethrid and Ezor bringing up the rear.

Lance’s jaw drops.

“No!” he shrieks indignantly. “How? How do you even know about Harley Quinn?” Ezor does a fantastic rendition, thumping a baseball bat against her palm.

“I dunno,” she says, popping her chewing gum. “I took a Buzzfeed quiz on what supervillain I would be. It picked this bitch.”

“That’s… more right that you know,” Lance whistles, backing away. Lacking spatial awareness, he backs into Zethrid, whose grin is somehow more terrifying than usual. The blue fur vest and fur pants are just… confusing. Zethrid is already on the furrier end of the Galra spectrum.

Hunk points at Zethrid. “Cookie Monster?” Sesame Street would never be the same.

“NO,” she booms, “I am Poisonous Wolfwoman.”

Ezor smirks, swinging her bat and narrowly missing a lamp. “I like a gal who knows what she wants, isn’t that right, Zeth—” the words are lost in a sloppy kiss.

Hunk looks at the others questioningly. He wants to point out that wolves are not blue, but the space wolf is, so that doesn’t seem worth arguing. He really just wants to know about the poisonous part.

Then they notice Lance is starting to itch. Really, really itch.

“Oh my god, what did you do to me?” Lance writhes. Zethrid cackles. “Is that itching powder?!”

“I am Poisonous Wolfwoman!”

“Oh dear,” Allura frowns disapprovingly. “That is not very nice.”

“That’s my girl,” Ezor beams.

“Outside,” Acxa takes Zethrid by the arm, apparently as immune to the substance as the other half-Galra are, steering her for the back door. “I will use the garden hose.”

Ezor just shrugs, turning back to Lance. “I’m sure she can hose you off, too, sweetheart.” She winks and snaps her gum.

“Ah! No, I’m taking a shower,” he peels off so fast that he leaves his wig behind.

“You forgot your roadkill!” Ezor calls after him.

Matt and Lotor resurface from wherever they’d been, and don’t even have the decency to look embarrassed at the way they continue to eyefuck.

Pidge leans into Hunk’s side. “I’m just glad mom and dad sat this one out.”

“Valid.”

Romelle leans into his other side, her sewn-on stuffed animals making for a lumpy kind of hug. It’s great. It’s perfect. Hunk has never been this happy.

Everyone’s here. Everyone’s safe, and together. And it’s not even weird.

Well… Kolivan is averting his eyes from Lotor’s strange getup. Coran is detailing ancient Altean haute couture to the MFE squad, though only Kinkade is listening. When Lance comes back from the bathroom he’s wearing pajama bottoms and riding Allura’s centaur back like a horse, and Zethrid emerges from the back yard with a towel fashioned as a loincloth.

Shiro and Keith just told their event horizon joke for the fifteenth time, and Shiro’s still smiling from ear-to-ear about it, his black attire increasingly caked in Keith’s gold glitter.

Maybe it’s a little weird. More than a little. But it’s theirs, and they wouldn’t trade it for the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! 🎃🖤❤️🧡💜💙💖💚💛💟💘😈
> 
> I love comments of any kind, including emoji dances and keysmashes— all welcome. Thank you for reading!


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